From the Ten, Laminated Minutes of the Early Morning
I found my body
Rubbing up against a coral reef,
My skin peeling off like cheese
In an aluminum grater,
Leaving little red holes, or
Empty pockets of air
That resemble little red holes
Where my flesh once was,
And I feel myself
Looking at myself
And I turn away from what I see,
But I'm not sure that's me—
How can I see myself?
How can I see myself?
I look back,
And nothing is there.
I thought I was there,
But now there is an empty space
Where I was lying down,
Submerging a thin stratum
Of invisible blue and white-
Washed reflections.
I wonder where my crumpled body has gone,
Where my consciousness
Or some Earthly force
Might've heaved
That heavy sack
That I was—in that puddle:
A bag of broken bones,
Serrating through the muscle
To breathe one breath of
What seems like air.
Then that ocean before me
Dries up, and all I see is sand.
It stretches for miles and miles
Around me, behind and forward—Completely encompassing.
Suddenly, I feel lost and embarrassed without any reason
To feel that way.
I feel as if I'm a grain of sand carried by the breeze,
Scattering the ground to new,
Yet similar landscapes,
Traversing me to where I began…
Which, to me,
Seems like nowhere at all.
Then, I start to like nowhere,
And I ponder about if nowhere likes me,
And I postulate that we belong together
If we commit to each other
In the way we pretend married people might.
Time begins to funnel in on itself,
[...] Read more
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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